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| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
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February/March
2010
Humor Writing Contest Results! |
Congratulations to
the Winners of our
February/March 2010 Humor
Writing Contest!
Health Care Now and Then
By David Crawford, British Columbia
The world of health care, which has inspired so much calm and thoughtful
debate recently, will be much better off now that Americans have settled
all their differences.
Oh sure, there may be a teensy weensy little argument over which
government bureaucracy will decide when and how people will die, but for
the most part, things are looking pretty rosy in the health arena these
days.
Things are not quite so clear in the over-the-counter medicine world
however, where we have a problem with choices. Allow me to illustrate
this lucid reasoning.
I recently went to the drugstore for some kid’s cold remedies. As I
wandered around the pain medication aisle(s), I selected a box of
Children’s Tylenol Cold, then I grabbed Tylenol Dry Cough and Runny
Nose, then some Tylenol Cough, Sneezing, Whining, Sore Throat,
Carbuncles and Runny Nose, and finally a bottle of Tylenol Extra
Strength Mostly Phlegm.
I also got Tylenol Zits, Tylenol Smelly Pee after Eating Asparagus, and
Tylenol Sweat, Boils and Tumors, just to be safe.
There were flavors too - Cherry, Bubble Gum, Grape, Peach, Pine, New Car
Smell, Diesel, Napalm, and Grilled Cheese.
I could administer the medication via liquid, tablets, liquid filled
tablets, capsules, round pills, coated pills, caplets, nose drops, eye
drops, suppositories, skin patches, needle injections, .22 caliber
rimfire cartridges, caulking gun, postal delivery, taxi-cab, Morse code
or Federal Express.
Contrast this confusing variety with the health substances we had
growing up in the 60’s – Aspirin, Phenergan, and a thick red liquid we
were told was Penicillin.
I have no idea what Phenergan was but we got it all the time. It may
have just been rum in a medicine bottle for all we knew (hey…it was the
sixties…have another brownie).
Here is how medical care used to work – it was simple:
Kid has fever so high Mom is cooking fried eggs on kid’s tummy? Aspirin.
Kid wakes up with spots everywhere and urps all over the kitchen?
Phenergan.
Kid comes home covered in hideous scabs from ‘riding’ bike all day with
no helmet? Nothing. “Stop oozing all over the floor, I just waxed it!”
Mom would say. “Now go wash up for supper”
Mom would reluctantly spoon penicillin into us only after our feverish,
yellow eyeballs rolled up into our blotchy foreheads as we drifted into
unconsciousness on our way to the hospital, and not a minute sooner
because that stuff was expensive.
We didn’t have a health care in the world back then. Medicine was
simple, yet effective. Everyone died by age 40 of course, but I’d like
to ignore that point right now.
The nice thing about medicine is the human body is very resilient. You
can do almost anything to it and it will usually recover, amputations
and occasional organ transplants excepted.
For example, my sister and her evil companion once squirted lemon juice
into my eyes during a rousing game of “Let’s Torture the Little Brother
We Promise It Won’t Hurt, Honest!”
Medical authorities today claim my poor eyesight is a result of astigma-something
and not ‘Shrivelling of the eyeballs as caused by lemon juice infusion
at age 5.’
The fact my spectacles today are as thick as a glass coffee table bears
no relation whatsoever to this small act of sibling playfulness I am
sure.
I forget what I was talking about.
Ah yes – health care.
In closing, here is a parting medical gift:
When a Spiderman Band-Aid does not staunch the flow of spurting arterial
blood from somewhere, remember what the guys from the TV show
“Emergency!” used to do, and start an IV of Ringers Lactate.
I have no idea what that is but it usually worked, and the handsome
Doctor at the hospital always called for it.
If that doesn’t work, then I suggest a dose of Phenergan and transport
immediately.
www.occasionalhumourist.blogspot.com
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
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 Russia
Uses Siberian Air Mass to Bully Smaller Warmer Nations (Asserting its
Power in a Multi-Polar World)
By Carlos Arnade, Virginia
In an ominous development reminiscent of the cold war, last week Russia
was discovered to be amassing millions of cubic feet of frigid Siberian
air, along the border of Ukraine and the small huddled States of the
Baltic. The polar air build up coincides with Russia’s recent spate of
belligerent statements about western interference in Russia’s “near
abroad” and its right to produce as much freezing air and heated
rhetoric as it pleases.
Western European leaders expressed concern that Russia was returning to
its bullying cold war ways. And they voiced a common suspicion that
Vladimir Putin had unleashed the snow and wintery storms that have
recently buried Europe and North America under snowdrifts and freezing
temperatures. European leaders also expressed concern, that Russia may
be storing hidden pockets of deep freezing snow, air, and ice, beyond
the Ural mountains, outside the viewing range of western satellites and
weather inspection services.
The Russian Minister of “abroad Stan affairs”, Yaroslav Dmitri Vladiput
Gaporchevnick, denied Russia’s involvement in Europe’s winter storms but
admitted that Russia has continued to build up its stocks of Siberian
air:
“Russia’s frigid atmosphere buildup is a logical response to European
and North America, and now Chinese, build up of global warming. Why you
complain because Russia moves one pawn against everybody’s global rook
attack?”
Ralf Leiterf, of the CIA’s Wind, Rain, and Fog Division offered this
assessment of Russia’s aggressive Siberian stance from his floating
office blimp:
“As global warming spreads and China produces more and more green house
gases, Russia old fashioned fear and paranoia about being encircled by
Western and Eastern ‘C02 emissions and warm air masses’ has re-emerged.
The U.S. military could blast the stratosphere above Moscow with a
tropical jet stream from Honolulu’s Hickman Air Force base and let the
colliding air mix explode into a “Fog”.
However, this is dangerous because we can’t expect both the U.S. and
Russia to keep their heads straight through the fog of a Fog war.“
To underscore the seriousness of Russia’s winter buildup, Georgian
President Mikhail Saakasvili was discovered sending frantic messages to
the governments of the United States and “eight equatorial countries”
asking for warm air donations. According to news sources, Georgian
“weather agents” had intercepted a large mass of “polar Siberian air”
moving, from Russia’s southern border towards Georgia.
Sources said the small independent Caucasus nation had been put on war,
and ice, footing and was storing up on blankets, ice skates and hockey
pucks.
Russian Minister Gaporchevnick denied Russia was planning to invade
Georgia with a battalion of Siberian temperatures and ice, and accused
the Georgian President of fomenting international hysteria over “snow
flurries” and a little winter frost. He then suggested that the Georgian
President retire to lower Uganda, where he might better appreciate
Siberia’s moderating contribution to Georgia’s climate.
Western European leaders announced that they were sending eight thousand
tropical plants to Georgia’s border areas to monitor the situation.
Shortly after Georgia’s President’s plea, photographers for Moscow’s
newspaper, Pravda, captured Russian Premier Vladimir Putin, on film,
cross country skiing without a shirt , hat or ski boots, outside the
Siberian city of Novosibirsk. When asked by reporters about the Georgian
President’s remarks, Mr. Putin rolled up a snowball and crushed it with
his bare left hand.
The Georgian President immediately called a press conference in the
Georgian capital of Tbilisi, where, before press cameras, he seized a
”significant sized bunch” of Georgian grapes in his right hand, and,
crushed them into a sour wine soup.
In the wake of their public “fist fight” Secretary of State Hillary
Clinton invited both former Soviet bloc leaders to Washington to make an
“anti-global warming snowman” on the White House lawn.
Mrs. Clinton then invited Russian President Medvedev to Al Gore’s
private video studio to “contemplate,” “breathe” and “sigh” with the
former U.S. Vice President.
As the cold sweep of air burrowed down on Georgia, the European tropical
plant monitors quickly froze and wilted, setting off alarms and
Christmas carols in six different European capitals.
Premier Putin quickly invited world leaders to Novosibirsk to carve out
ice sculptures of a Russian tank battalion and to celebrate the
millionth anniversary of the “last ice age.”
As the mass of Siberian air finally swept across Georgia, the CIA’s Ralf
Leiterf offered his final view:
“The next time Russian weather spills over the borders we plan to catch
it with blimp bags and send it as indoor air conditioning aid to lower
Uganda.”
www.bananaws.com
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
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 Dante's
Piles
By Cindy P., Minnesota
(Last name withheld by author's request.)
They say dogs are just like their owners. My dog scoots across
the carpet on her rear end like an upright, motorized ceramic lawn
ornament. The vet says her anal glands are impacted, but I think she has
hemorrhoids.
Young people never get hemorrhoids. Once you’re over 40 and you've given
birth a few times, your body’s entire vascular infrastructure sighs,
weakens, and stops trying so hard to keep the fuel lines taut and
shipshape. Capillaries seeking sunlight just kind of float up to the
surface of your skin and take up permanent residence - tiny, purplish
lines etched in permanent marker that show through any makeup that's
thinner than pancake batter.
About the same time spider veins make an appearance, tree roots pop out
on your legs, ruining the only part of your body relatively free of
wrinkles. In my twenties, I wore Daisy Dukes. In my 30s, Bermuda shorts.
Then came capris. Now that I'm in my fifth decade, I favor calf-length
pedal pushers that show off my stunningly youthful left ankle. Some day,
when lumpy afflictions stop me from wearing any warm weather clothing
whatsoever, I'm supposed to retire to someplace hot and humid, like
Florida.
I don't understand the hydraulics of arteries. I don't know if varicose
veins are coming or going, pushing water up the pipe or down, but they
seem to be fighting a losing battle with gravity. I'd pay a pretty penny
to have a fuel injector device installed between my toes to help
everything get back up where it belongs. If the device could extend
beyond venal tissues and lift other parts of the body, so much the
better. I sometimes wonder if I yank a varicose vein really hard, maybe
it would pull up the slack and fix my hemorrhoids.
Doctors don't care if you have hemorrhoids. That's because sooner or
later, everybody gets them, and it would bankrupt health care as we know
it to fix the problem. So all of society pretends it is perfectly
acceptable to go about your day with an excruciating condition that is,
oh, how to describe Dante's piles? Something like an amalgamation of
poison ivy, a third degree sunburn, and a bit of dental floss stuck in
your rear molar.
There's no relief, just empty pharmaceutical promises. My bathroom is
stocked with all kinds of medicinal rear end voodoo. Wipes. Ointments.
Gels. Cocoa butter and zinc oxide, which come in handy if you're
sunbathing in the nude. One of the most popular creams contains 3% shark
liver oil, which has been shown to be 12% more effective than fish stick
suppositories or sitting in a vat of tartar sauce.
The standard treatment - applying witch hazel to your Netherlands - is
like putting gasoline on an open wound and then setting it on fire. I
guess if something hurts like hell, it doesn't itch any more.
The problem is that hemorrhoids are invisible to the general public.
Things would be different if they popped out on people's foreheads.
There's a lot of heated debate about health care reform, but nobody is
wearing zinc-oxide-white ribbons in support of hemorrhoidal research. If
there were a national, anti-hemorrhoids uproar, if hordes of people
wearing tweed skirts and wool suits and designer jeans sat down on their
bottoms and started scooting across the lawn of the White House, then
maybe congress would take notice and fix the problem.
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
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 How
to Dress for a Happy Wedding – The Guy’s Guide
By
Burton Cole,
Ohio
For years, I managed to dress myself. Then I married a consultant.
Dressing has become an adventure. And a danger.
I was heading to the closet to snatch something to wear to my brother
Dan’s wedding.
“You probably want to set out your shoes to be polished,” my wife called
out as I started up the stairs.
“Not really,” I called back.
“Yes, you do,” she said.
I turned and stared down the stairs, trying to puzzle out this bit of
information.
“They’re fine,” I finally said. “It’s not like I’m going to prop my feet
up on the pew in front of me.”
“Do you want this to be a happy wedding?” she asked.
“I don’t think Mary Jane is going to care if my shoes...”
“I wasn’t talking about the bride,” she said.
“Oh,” I said.
I changed directions to find the dusty shoes that I now knew I would be
polishing.
“Set out the clothes you plan to wear so I can check to see if they need
ironed,” she said.
“They’re fine,” I said. “I’m wearing these brown slacks and that blue
shirt.”
“Brown? With your gray jacket?”
“Sure,” I said. “I wear that combination a lot.”
“Not since we’ve been married you haven’t.”
“Well, I would, but the pants keep disappearing. It’s as if someone
sneaks in and steals them. But I knew Dan and Mary Jane’s wedding was
coming and I wanted to look nice, so I hid the slacks under my side of
the bed. Let me just shake them out a bit...”
“You’ll find your black slacks already pressed and hanging in the first
slot on the left.”
“But I like...”
“Happy wedding,” she said.
I kicked the brown slacks back beneath the bed. I reached for my shirt,
then froze.
“Um, Sweetie, what shirt have I decided to wear?”
“That blue one is fine.”
“Am I sure?”
“Yes, you are.”
“That’s what I thought about the pants and the shoes, but it turns out
that I was wrong,” I said. “Say, about your outfit, do you really...”
“Go change,” she said.
“Happy wedding,” I said, and ducked.
As the time to leave drew near, she said, “Don’t forget your tie. Unless
it’s the green one. Forget that. You know which tie to wear.”
I knew the exact one. I’d dressed myself before, after all.
This day was about love. Romance. A happy wedding. Very carefully, I
extracted the perfect tie from the back of the rack, folded it and
slipped it inside a pocket of my gray jacket, which had been deemed
fine.
Then from the front, I took the pre-approved, classic, conservatively
striped tie and draped it around my neck.
“I’ll put on my tie at the church,” I said.
Moments before we were to be escorted into the sanctuary, I walked into
the restroom to put on my pocketed tie.
And that’s how I walked down the aisle of my brother’s wedding wearing
my Looney Tunes tie with all its big, red hearts and expressive scenes
of Pepe Le Pew, the amorous skunk, wooing a frantic, paint-striped
Penelope Pussycat.
“What’s that?” she gasped.
“Classic wedding tie,” I said, walking to our seats. “Told you I could
dress myself.”
It was a very happy wedding.
www.tribtoday.com/page/category.detail/nav/5135/Burton-Cole.html
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
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 What
Moms Already Know About Super Bowl Lingo
By Joel Schwartzberg,
New Jersey
Moms are often stereotyped as being
football-illiterate. First down? Red zone? Fullback? But in the spirit
of the Super Bowl (as well as Johnny Carson's "Carnac the Magnificent"),
I'm sharing 16 football terms that have double-meanings in the context
of raising kids -- meanings that endure well beyond an over-hyped
three-hour period on an otherwise useful Sunday afternoon:
First Down!
Parental exclamation after the younger of two siblings goes to sleep.
Running Back
What you do five minutes after you've left the house without ample
pacifiers.
Halftime
How to settle the issue of getting one free cookie but having two
children on the verge of fighting over it.
Good Field Position
A shady picnic spot in the park far from other children and dog poop.
Red Zone
What keeps companies like Desitin and Vaseline in business.
Offensive Line
"Shut up!"
Defensive Line
"But she hit me first!"
30-Second Time-Out
When you run out of time to give a full one.
Instant Replay
What happens when the first restaurant-menu tic-tac-toe game ends in a
tie.
Extra Point
The benefit of mechanical pencils over typical #2s.
Pass Protection
In the minivan, when your child tells you the left lane is clear.
Tight End
The part of a child's sock that is hardest to put on.
One-Hand Reception
When you hold a crying kid with one hand and take a call with the other.
Flea-Flicker
The family dog, especially when lounging on your child's bed.
Turnover
The point at which one child's allotted water-fountain period ends and
another's begins.
Strong Safety
The moment at which a parent says "Hold my hand! We're in a parking
lot!"
www.40yearoldversion.com
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